


In Another Life, I Would Make You Stay

by SlashyUnicorn



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, In which Sherlock BBC is in different universe than Marvel Cinematic Universe, M/M, and people can reincarnate into different universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 22:58:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8420449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlashyUnicorn/pseuds/SlashyUnicorn
Summary: “Do I know you?”He never seen that man, let alone meet him before. He was sure of it. But as he turned, it was as if Everett's breath was taken away from him.Was it a heart problem? No, he had done the JCTC basic medical evaluation. Every year, same goddamn medical evaluation. He won’t rise to the rank so quickly as Deputy Task Force Commander if he had some sort of health problem. He didn't know this guy, and yet he felt familiar. The same pointed nose, the same pale skin. The same sharp eyes that stared into your soul. Who was it?The man frowned. “No? I don’t think so.” But even he looked unsure of his answer. He opened his mouth as if to say something more, but a sudden explosion somewhere far away distracted him. “I’d love to chat longer, but I’m afraid I have to cut this conversation short.” He turned up his cloak, distractedly, as if— “Turning up your collar so you look cool.” Everett blinked, because what was that just now?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [In Another Life, I Would Make You Stay / В другой жизни я бы тебя удержал](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10617495) by [sverhanutaya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sverhanutaya/pseuds/sverhanutaya)



> Basically in this Marvel Cinematic Universe AU, any kind of Sherlock Holmes, literature or real person, don't exist.
> 
> The time of death for Sherlock and John was after His Last Vow. AU someone else kill Magnussen so Sherlock went back to being private detective. No Mary, so John and Sherlock was in a relationship.
> 
> One of the reason I ship it because of Zasha (online name Bulecelup) who basically ship all Martin Freeman/Benedict Cumberbatch character, so Zasha, if you're reading it, so sorry if it's not up to your expectation. 
> 
> Done with the ninja edit and proof read! Hopefully not missing anything that's not out of place.

“Do I know you?”

He never seen that man, let alone meet him before. He was sure of it. But as he turned, it was as if Everett's breath was taken away from him.

Was it a heart problem? No, he had done the JCTC basic medical evaluation. Every year, same goddamn medical evaluation. He won’t rise to the rank so quickly as Deputy Task Force Commander if he had some sort of health problem. 

He didn't know this guy, and yet he felt familiar. The same pointed nose, the same pale skin. The same sharp eyes that stared into your soul. _Who_ was it?

The man frowned. “No? I don’t think so.” But even he looked unsure of his answer. He opened his mouth as if to say something more, but a sudden explosion somewhere far away distracted him. “I’d _love_ to chat longer, but I’m afraid I have to cut this conversation short.” He turned up his cloak, distractedly, as if—

_“Turning up your collar so you look cool.”_

Everett blinked, because _what was that just now?_ He grabbed the edge of the cloak before the man turned too far, seeing the fabric twisted violently on his hand as if it was alive. Wait a minute. Was it actually alive? “Hey! Watch it. She’s sensitive.”

“She?" Everett huffed. "It’s a goddamn cloak.” The cloak whimpered as if hurt, wrapping itself tighter around the man’s body. “Now look of what you did.”

Shaking his head, he said. "Forget about the damned cloak! I see where you're going. Why _in the world_ do you wanna go there?" he had to know, he had to. It was dangerous of him to go there alone. He, um, he just just wanted to be a helpful citizen and help this man stayed alive. Nothing else…right?

"To vanquish evil, save the world, blah blah blah. I'm seriosly in a rush here. So, if you could just let me go?" Everett didn't realize his hands was still clinging to the unrealistically soft material of the fabric. But the warmth radiating from the man’s _alive_ body was comforting. Alive, and not like—

_Bullet hole in his head, exit wound, extensive tissue damage, powder burns around the wounds. Point-blank shot—no. Contact shot. Directly with muzzles touching the head from behind._

_He never saw his attacker._

He clenched his hand tighter. The memories' acting up again. But fake memories aside, he had a feeling that if he let this man go, he will _die_. Everett was sure of it. "No. I won't let you."

"Don't be unreasonable, that explosion wasn’t a regular explosion. I _have_ to go there.” he scoffed on the inside. Hah. Talking as if Everett was a child. Didn’t he realize he was the one who’s a child?

 _“Stop acting like a child and start cleaning your bloody room!_ My bed _is_ not _a place for your experimentation with severed head!”_

What the fuck—? Again? How many times was it? These vision was happening more frequently. More intense. Now it felt as if he was in the memory himself. God, all of this was starting to make his head hurt. It was beginning to get _too_ real. Was this how hallucination felt?

Other option could be that he was jinxed by someone who hated him (which was a lot, actually now that he thought about it). Last week he went to Wakanda, people were giving him a stink eye for daring to detain their prince-turned-king on the Bucky Barnes accident, so there was still a possibility of him being cursed by that Wakandan witchdoctor (yep, seen him. Don't want anything to do with him. That man was one scary motherfucker). They were the only plausible explanation that he could think of on top of his head on why the memories was getting sharper and sharper.

"I know it wasn't. There's a man _flying_ on top of it for god's sake. But let the Avengers deal with him. I don't care. I'll tie you up myself if I have to."

He smirked. "Kinky, but sorry, I think this needs immediate solution. I mean, it's not like that flying man is planning on destroying the world am I right?” _oh, a smartass. Great._

"I mean, he could just be, I don't know, taking a stroll in the sky?" Rolling his eyes, he slowly prying Everett’s hand from the fabric, exhaling in frustration “Don't worry about me. " He waved his hand while trying to shrug the cape casually, but instead looked like an idiot playing with his mother's oversized blanket.

"Besides, I'm not a civilian, as you can see from my outfit. _Or_ , the massive shield that I can conjure out of thin air?” he said sarcastically, as a shield _literally_ materialized out of thin air. It was made of orange light and deflected his hand as he tried to dissipate that annoying barrier. Turned out to be a real, physical shield, like what the fuck how was it real. He shouldn’t be surprised, really, after Avengers and Scarlett Witch, but seeing it directly in front of his eyes was a different thing.

After the shield was gone, as it seemed he can’t maintain it for a long period of time (the more reason to not go to the explosion), Everett gripped the arms of the other guy tight, trying to make him see reason. "No! You can’t! It’s—it’s suicide! _Please._ “

The man’s eyes widened at the intensity. Why did he insist on saving this stranger? He didn’t know this infuriating man. This wannabe cape crusaders was charming and handsome enough, Everett would’ve remember him if he did. And yet he kept appearing in his vision lately as it got clearer. This man whom he somehow knew would die fighting any kind of monster who threatened people who were close to him. And when he died, again, him and Mrs. Hudson would be—wait _who’s Mrs. Hudson again?_

Looking conflicted, the man finally nodded, as if deciding to finally agree with Everett’s will. But no, of course not. Instead he did some hand motion, the amulet he wore as a necklace opened his eye and glowed when he gestured a symbol, a green pentagram that he scanned all over Everett’s body, while still hesitating when he did so.

Everett felt something in him rooted itself. “What did you just do?

"So no matter what happen, I'll always come back to you."

_“I'll always come back to you.”_

Some explanations about _time check point_ and _time travel_ waspouring out of the other's mouth, but at this point, he didn't listen anymore. Can’t. His heart felt like it was in agony, throbbing with pain and flooding him with feelings from his memories. This time it hit him full force with such intensity that he felt like everything was spinning out of control.

He flinched when a trembling hand wiped his cheek. It was scarred all over, but despite that, the tremors gave him a grounding sense of safety and assurance instead of invasion of privacy. The other man looked surprised, either by his own action, or the fact that this random stranger suddenly cried in front of him. Probably the later. “Why are you crying?” he asked.

"I don't know." And it was the truth. He honestly didn’t know. Maybe it was because of the memories of someone he might know, cold and dead on the ground. Maybe the anguish way he kept calling someone Sherlock over and over again, hoping something would change for the better.

“Sherlock…?”

The man looked that he, too, recognized the name. But it can’t be. It was Everett’s own memories. Unless he could read or control minds. Which was actually a plausible explanation for all this madness. “Sherlock who?”

“No one.” He wiped his tears in anger, reluctantly letting the other’s hand fell down from his cheek. “Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s Strange.” The man sighed. Which was fair enough, but this was already embarrassing as it was without him commenting on it.

Everett gritted his teeth. “Well, I’m _sorry_ that—“

“ _No._ My _name_ , is Doctor Stephen Strange.” He took Everett’s hand in his large palm and suddenly Everett can’t breathe.

_“To the very best of times, John.”_

“It is…very lovely to meet you, but I do have a rogue Master to catch.” He let go of Everett’s hand, even when he clumsily tried to grab him back, and _floated_ towards the smoke rising in the distance. But even away from him, Everett could see how unsure he also was at their whole interraction, as he kept glancing at his shaking hands and Everett’s general direction.

His subordinate, Eve (he totally forgot he had to meet her for a meeting) ran towards him in from a distance away and freaking out right in front of him, flailing her hands excitedly. “Oh My God! Did you see that? He just—he just flew away!”

Everett frowned. “That’s not quite right, is it?”

“Well, yeah.” Eve said, still shaking her head in amazement. “There’s a man flying, without any sort of help! I mean Thor has his hammer and Stark has his armor—”

“No, that’s not what I meant.” He pursed his lips, annoyed. “He said he’s a doctor. _I’m_ the one who’s a doctor. He’s a detective. Isn’t he?”

“What? You do have Ph.D in law from Oxford, sir. But you do realize that you aren’t a _medical_ doctor? He is. Or well, _was_ a doctor.” She took something out of her bag, a magazine dated last year. “Here, I was about to show him to you before, but you’re too busy preparing Barnes’ arrival to notice.”

"So you carried this the whole time?"

She shrugged. "Well, he does have a handsome face. Before, you know, he became a hobo and all." She sighed dreamily. "But that blue robe he wear. It brings out his eyes. And ah, the amulet—"

He put her in semi-permanent mute mode, which was what usually happen when she started talking about handsome guys, and read the magazine. The headline’s read as ‘Downfall of The Great Doctor : Strange or Gone Native?’ with a candid picture of unshaven Strange, trying to shield his face from the mass media with a hat.

_“Why’s it always the hat photograph?”_

_“It’s a deerstalker.”_

_“How do you stalk a deer with a hat? What are you going to do, throw it?”_

The flashback, of course. Every goddamn time.

_“I mean, this isn’t a deerstalker now. It’s a Sherlock Holmes hat. I mean that you’re not exactly a private detective anymore. You’re this far from famous.”_

_“Oh, it’ll pass.”_

_“It better pass. The press will turn, Sherlock. They always turn. And they’ll turn on you.”_

Even he could sum up this imaginary guy in his head, based on his memories, that Sherlock was a private detective, and John, his assistant, he guessed, was a medical Doctor. And, like Strange, who might have something to do with triggering his 'hallucination', the media eventually turned on them, like they always do. Afterall, you can do anything with media these days, with the advance technological development.

The media, who before praised the work of the genius doctor, now mock him. From his appearances, to the uselessness of his hands after the accident.

He’ll be wincing in sympathy right now, if his mind not filled by weird flashback and worry over someone he didn’t really know going against another new villain whose power he also didn’t know for once. The database his organization acquired from the destruction of S.H.I.E.L.D should be pretty extensive already.

“Sir, there’s been an update. Someone is lifting Olympiastadion in Berlin with his super power. It seems the man was the same one who lifted Robert F. Kennedy Memorial Stadium in 1973.”

Since super-powered people emerged, this kind of things fall to his jurisdiction as well, so he sighed, reluctantly, and hailed a taxi. “To John F. Kennedy International Airport please.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ross always felt something was missing from his life. Even as a child he always seemed to be looking around, searching for something, _anything_ that will fill this emptiness he felt in his chest. Like he shouldn’t be here. His place was beside someone else, someone who weren’t his parents, with their strict, but fair upbringing. Someone who wasn’t his girlfriend, with her soft lips and gentle hands.

He belonged to someone that was dangerous, but exciting. Annoying, but protective. Socially awkward, but was a genius. Like certain someone in his flashbacks. He might be only able to hear his voice, but through it, he could gauge the man’s personality.

Compared to that man, everyone felt boring. Basic. And so, kept his grade up and up and he get his Bachelor’s degree at 18, Masters at 21. He might not be as smart as Tony Stark or Hank Pym, but it was still more than what other people usually achieved. All this to appease this feeling inside of him, like he had something to prove to that certain someone. Maybe to be as smart as him. To not be left behind when he finally met him.

_"Are you trying to do something here?"_

_"Yes, to prove that I'm not an idiot. God knows you said it often enough."_

_"John—"_

_“Sherlock?” Lestrade was at the door, possibly about some new, puzzling case he can’t solve by himself._

He was planning to get his doctorate degree when JCTC approached him. So he get his doctorate _while_ working and it might make his face permanently stuck in a frown with eye baggage like pandas, but the look everyone gave him, the jealousy, _oh_ it was worth it.

A normal person would probably set out to find what those memories about, and he did, for a while. During every high school break he set out to the nearest library, pouring out books in every corner he could find on that matter, to find any clues on ‘Sherlock’. It was an uncommon name. Something should pop up. He even collected all money from his part time job for a week ‘vacation’ in London.

When he came home at night, tired and still empty handed, falling asleep as soon as he hit the bed, he dreamt of something that made him changed his mind.

_“I'll always come back to you.”_

That man again. He felt like he could trust him. Depend on him for anything. So, he waited.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stephen Strange blew himself up alongside the criminal on that nice, sunny day in New York. There was no way to escape the explosion, and everybody on the news saw it, so he wasn’t imagining it.

At that exact moment, Everett Ross fell to his knees in the middle of his office, right there in front of his boss and some of the government official, clutching his aching chest. Everyone around him panicked and shout but he can't pay attention to it among the excruciating pain tearing through his lungs, his breast bone, his heart.

He woke up in a hospital with a stern warning of rest from both his boss and the doctor. They didn't know what caused it. His medical test came out perfectly clean. But, well, no one ever said he wasn’t a stubborn son of bitches. He set to work on that explosion.

The criminal who was caught on explosion as well was named Kaecilius who, according to the Super Super Secret Data he got (courtesy of Tony Stark's AI Friday), was a Master sorcerer who escaped from Dark Dimension. Apparently, this world has many dimension and this universe was just one of them. Now, he was considering the possibility that this ‘Sherlock’ that haunted his entire life might be from another universe.

(For the record, him and Tony Stark was not best friends, they were just like to talk over coffee or booze, mocking other overly stuck up government official while both trying to sourced information out of each other)

That man was caught on camera, shouting angrily at Strange, just for a brief moment before he and Strange flew straight in the air and fought with their 'mystical power', eventually creating large explosion in the sky.

He was familiar in a way. His face, his accents. Like Everett met him before but he wasn’t quite the same.

 _“Don’t you Mr. Magnussen? I understood we were meeting at your office?” A man with a bespoke suit was studying the room with attentive eyes, and now he walked as if he owned the place._ Their _place. “This is my office.”_

Everything came back to him wasn’t it. Maybe, just maybe, it was time for a vacation.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Strange showed up in his apartment a week later, Everett was so surprised he whipped out his gun, one of his beloved Baretta M9, dressed only in his pajamas and sleeping robe. He had too much accident with super-powered being lately to sleep without attaching his hand gun to several places in his house. It probably won’t work on them, but better safe than sorry.

The man in question was floating in from his window ( _didn’t he lock that before bed?_ ), raising his hand in placation at a gun being aimed to his face.

"So....this is awkward. But hey, at least I did tell you that I'll come back to you. Literally."

He put the gun down when his brain registered who that was. "You idiot!" he flicked the safety back on, putting the gun on the table. “I could’ve shot you!”

Strange grimaced, waving his hand to hang his cloak in the air. Of course, being a magic cloak, it won’t need any kind of support. “Uh. Oops? I just—

Before the other could say anything, he kissed Strange with all his might, peace filled his chest as he did so. He didn't know why he did that, which apparently was something that became an occurance from being around Stephen Strange. This man was a complete stranger (pun intended). He only met him once before. So why did he felt this immense relief at finding out that strange was still alive? Or that he was kissing like him like he was a lifeline.

Strange murmured something between the kisses that Everett had to stop. “What?”

“Didn’t you used Sig Sauer P226R before? The British Army standard?” He shook his head lightly. "No, that's wrong, it was somewhere else."

Everett looked at him suspiciously. That was weird. “I do have it in my bedroom, but it’s more as a collection than for use. Standard for American is Baretta.” He paused. “Wait, how do you know that? _No_ , more importantly, how are you here? You _died_ , at the explosion."

“I did, but now I’m alive again thanks to you.”

 _He can’t believe—_ “You _did_ die? What kind of nonsense is that? Body double? Regenerates fast like Deadpool? _Immortal_?”

"Now, if you just hear my explanation before..."

Taking a seat in his comfortable sofa in his living room, he patted the spot next to him. He felt like he needed to sit down for this. “So explain again. _Now._ ”

Strange took a seat right beside him, but his shaky fingers kept tapping the couch’s arm, whether in nervousness or excitement, Everett didn’t know. “I can’t explain it, but there is apparently…something linking us together.” He waved his hands again and now there was a glowing rope binding them together.

“What _the fuck_ is this?”

Strange winced. “Ah, yes, Stark warned me how mouthy you can be now. It was a literal link between our soul. I dared to put the ‘time check point’ in you because of this. Because our souls are already linked.”

Everett signaled him to stop. “Before you said anything, I don’t believe in anything supernatural and all that so you can skip that crap in your explanation.”

Instead of getting, Strange smirked, and his lips quirked so beautifully when he did that. _Fuck_ , he had a problem. A handsome problem who fucking barged into his life and will either ruin him or make everything better.

“I used to be like you until I was pushed literally into it. Maybe someday I have to show you how these ‘supernatural crap’ works.” He waved again and the rope disappeared. _Huh. Neat trick_. “Think of it as an energy binding us together. Every human body stored a certain amount of energy, and by linking two bodies together, they can share and give energy.”

“Alright, so what has that got to do with you being alive again?

"Here’s the thing, when I explode, something actually _did_ go awry. I was supposed to immediately materialized beside you by borrowing a little bit of energy and placing time travel check point on you since we have the same type of energy, on that exact same time I met you, but I was thrown into time loop elsewhere."

He hesitated. "The year's 2014 And we're in an apartment—no, a flat. In London. There's me, and there's you, but it's not us at the same time."

If he was going to say what Everett thought, he would—

"I think," he said slowly, as if to not scare Everett, as if _he_ could be scared by anything like _time loop_. "It's better to show you."

Slowly, Strange put both of his index and middle fingers to the Everett’s temple and everything faded to black.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

_He was John Watson, former British Army doctor. The memory apparently played back to the last, right before his time of death._

_"Are you trying to do something here?"_

_"Yes, to prove that I'm not an idiot. God knows you said it often enough."_

_"John—"_

_“Sherlock?” Greg was at the door, possibly about some new, puzzling case he can’t solve by himself._

_“Not now, Lestrade. Go bother some other detective that has nothing to do but indulge your idiocy." Sherlock said, opening his mouth to say something more, this time to him but John wouldn't let him. He couldn't stand Sherlock mocking his intelligence again for the hundreth of times, at least not now. Once a while was okay, but he repeated it over and over again and now John’s confidence about it was about as low as Sherlock’s confidence that he ever quit his drug addiction problem._

_“Come in, Greg. The door isn’t locked.” He saw Greg peeking in from the living room door with wary look. “I could always come back another time?”_

_John shook his head. “No, no. We’re done here.”_

_Sherlock gave him a look. "We'll definitely continuing this later, won't we?"_

_"Maybe."_

_The case was about a son of a famous Irish gang's crime lord who ran off with some of his father’s wealth and now set off a civil war within the gang’s loyal follower of his father and the new rebellious member who followed him. He was apparently really smart, able to avoid the Yard's capture for over a year now._

_It was dangerous, but eventually they were able to track him down to abandoned warehouse. The only option was an ambushed. But Sherlock want in on the danger (wasn’t he always?). “Sherlock, no, it’s dangerous and I don’t like it. I had a bad feeling about this.”_

_“Lestrade, can you go and brief your lackeys? Or something? Just, go.” Greg sighed. He finally nodded, and went somewhere else to actually brief his subordinate about the ambush one more time. “John, we’ve done this before, it’ll be fine.”_

_“Still don’t like it.”_

_Sherlock sighed. He pulled out two rings, a modest silver ring that worked as a tracking device and heart monitor. If it stopped or got too low, it will signal the other. It also will signal the police if one of them died._

_Their wedding rings._

_He put one on his fingers, and one to John’s. One quick peck on his cheek, for good luck, exactly like the way John taught him. “I’ll always come back to you.”_

_When his ring blipped red frantically, he knew then that Sherlock had lied. He bit his lips until he could taste the blood on it to keep from screaming out loud. It was a trap. Of course it was. And Scottland Yard done their best at wiping out the remaining gang members but Sherlock’s body was nowhere to be found._

_John slipped away in the gunfight and that was when he saw it, on the floor of a side warehouse quite a distance away._

_Bullet hole in his head, exit wound, extensive tissue damage, powder burns around the wounds. Point-blank shot—no. Contact shot. Directly with muzzles touching the head from behind._

_He never saw his attacker._

_John wanted to scream. To shout out at that cold body. To say, please, one more miracle, like after Reichenbach, and maybe, some deity up there will listen to him once again. Instead, turned, and shot at the general direction of Sherlock’s attacker. Sure enough, there was a guy hidden behind one of the large boxes and it was the son’s gang member himself. John managed to get him right on his forehead, but not before he was shot first in his stomach._

_It was…bad. The bullet lodge itself in his abdominal aorta, and the blood flew out faster than he could staunch it. He limped towards his husband’s body and unseeing eyes, collapsing right beside of him, closing his eyes. He won’t make it out alive, he knew, but at least at the end, they were still together. Sherlock and John, detective and his blogger, together till the end. At least they didn’t die by some cancer or other kind of slow-killing sickness. Sherlock would just hate going out not literally with a bang. He chuckled, and oh, he can’t feel the pain anymore, that was bad._

_He turned his head, and the last thing he saw was Sherlock’s peaceful face and it was alright. They both saw through this end._

_As the world faded to black. So did John Watson draw his last breath._

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

"God, you're such an idiot." He said as he came back to himself, trailing kisses on Strange-Sherlock’s forehead, his cheeks, his lips, everything he could reach. They were now both of their persona, merging into one entity. Strange-Sherlock and Everett-John. Soul bound for eternity.

Strange-Sherlock shook his head lightly, not wanting to move away at all from Everett-John's kisses. "I'm _really_ not. And for the record, " he kissed back, uncharacteristically gentle, he supposed the other had a lot of experiences with women in this life, being rich and famous as he was. "Neither are you." He pressed his forehead onto the other. "I might be too prideful to say it before but..." A kiss, quick and soft on his lips. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me."

It was as if the lifetime weight on his shoulder was lifted. The acknowledgment. Confession. But the most important thing for him was, now...he was whole again.

He gave more kisses to his best friend. His husband. Part of his soul.

“I’m not letting you go, this time.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

**Author's Note:**

> References:  
> *The tittle is from Katy Pery's song The One That Got Away
> 
> *some flashbacks are from Sherlock BBC, some are not
> 
> *I don’t really know the proper procedure for ambush in Scottland Yard, so apologize for any mistake (I’ll correct them if you point them out)
> 
> *Martin Freeman loves to swear. Like, a lot. One of his swearing montage in interviews and shows: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZVcKs1k7b6k 
> 
> *Wakandan witchdoctor : Zawavari http://comicvine.gamespot.com/zawavari/4005-60980/
> 
> *Differences between Point-Blank shot and Contact shot :  
> “A contact shot produces a distinctive wound, with extensive tissue damage from the burning propellant. Unlike a shot from point-blank range, the powder burns will cover a very small area right around the entry wound; often there will be a distinct pattern, called tattooing.”
> 
> *JCTC, or Joint Counter Terrorism Centre, was the organisation in which Everett worked in Civil War.
> 
> *Gun that John used in the series is Sig Sauer P226R, British Army equipment designation L106A1, issued to soldiers serving in Afghanistan (http://www.sherlockology.com/props/johns-pistol) but since Everett Ross is American, and he’s on counter terrorism team instead of military, I don’t know what kind of gun he used. But Baretta M9 was used a lot by American military so I gave him that one instead http://www.beretta.com/en/m9/ so sorry for any gun inaccuracy.
> 
> *Charles Magnussen was played by Lars Mikkelsen, who is the brother of Mads Mikkelsen, who played Kaecillius. So since this is a ‘reincarnation’ fic, Kaecilius could be the reincarnation of Charles Magnussen.
> 
> *What happen when you got shot in the stomach : https://www.quora.com/What-happens-when-you-get-shot-in-the-stomach


End file.
